Arms that Hold
by wahinetoa
Summary: SANA: Drabble fluffy. Alt ending to TftR. Nightmares haunt Ana Lucia, and it's Sawyer Ford, who finds the solution to them. Complete.


**Arms that Hold you.**

**Disclaimer:** ABC owns all.

**Dedication:** Hoelli, LL and Aloha. Sana everywhere.

* * *

_"The line between Nightmares and Dreams, is defined in the arms that hold you."_

Ana Lucia wasn't sure if the she slept anymore, than find herself waking from nightmares, she had no memory of falling into.

In all the time between that moment of being shot by Michael, Jack finding Mike and Gale had gone, and saving her and Libby, and this moment now, 6 weeks later, Ana still was afraid of closing her eyes.

She walked the shoreline, guarding the camp until dawn, when she would fall into unconsciousness out of sheer exhaustion. It was futile to think that even being in that state, might save her from the voices in her head, telling her, screaming at her that even when she tried to do right, she got it wrong.

Because Ana Lucia knew, eventually, the nightmares would still be there, fighting for breath as she startled awake, sweating and yet frozen - the faint nearly imperceptible voice betraying; "I'm sorry."

It was those words, that ultimately, drew her back to him. Sawyer.

He was the one that caught her walking like a zombie, the one who called her on it. The one who showed her that he got the gun back, that he wasn't gonna let her get away with nothin' ever again. Then he said those two words as she walked away, those two blood-stained words she could imagine Mike saying while he still held the same damn gun in his hands.

And she snapped.

Roaring back, she had pinned him to the rough bark of the tree, her eyes blazing - all the rage and hurt visible in her dark eyes, for a long moment, Sawyer couldn't look away. Couldn't ignore the truth when it was pressed against him, a world of regret he let walk away in the first place.

He discovered that they were more similar, than they were different - no matter how much either one of them fought it. Somewhere in her tirade, something in her broke open, a floodgate of sorrows that began as a tremble in her bones, until she clung to him, desperately to hold herself up, than to keep him silent. Not that she was; babbling amongst the threats, the curses.. speechless that he didnt respond verbally, when her voice hitched on a sob. She tried then to push away, but there remained no strength in her arms, in her whole body, other than to cling to him. A warrior too long in battle, to remember what or who she fought for.  
But he remembered.

Sawyers arms had burned to hold her every day since they'd found her and Libby dying on the concrete Hatch floor. He'd barely left her side, waving off any protest Kate or Jack had, saying it was to make sure she woke so he'd pay her back. An excuse. Then when she woke, he'd seen that same hollow look he'd worn as James Ford, and he'd run. It frightened him to see it in someone he'd come to care for, feel responsible for and want to be responsible for, for a long time.  
Sawyer watched her carefully, and knew his moment had come. Let her kick and holler some more at him - he'd let her go once, six weeks ago, he'd be damned if he'd do that again. Sawyer wrapped her into a tight embrace, almost crushing her to his solid form, and waited for Ana Lucia to stop shaking. Some waking nightmares were still too fresh, he knew.

Ana looks up at him, indignant fire and challenge - everything beautiful about her; brilliant in the early dawn. No words, he knows. So he leans forward, lifting her up as he bends his head down, to directly look into her eyes, and feels Lucy steady herself against him, concentrating her considerable will to defy him one final time. He had to let her know he meant business, and squeezed a little tighter.

Everything said in his face, open and honest as he'd ever been - because she would be the one to see if he was conning her, lying, and he couldn't and wouldn't let her use him as the excuse to stalk away, be alone. Not while he was near.

He held her, eyes unflinching on hers, letting her know she wasn't alone. Hoping, eventually, she would accept it, he felt her sag against him and Sawyer breathed out in relief. His hold went from brandishing to embrace as he slid the both of them to the sandy floor, his back against the tree and wrapping her firmly in his arms. Her head lay against his shoulder, the tremors subsiding as her breathing returned to normal.

For the first time in weeks, Ana Lucia could no longer hold her eyes open to outstare the cowboy, and reluctantly against her will, her eyes fluttered closed her head cradled on his chest, the steady unfaltering heartbeat in her ear as he gently rubbed reassuring patterns on her back. His voice a soft murmur; "I'll stay with you, Muchacha. Sleep, it's okay. I'll-I'll watch over you."

True to his promise, that's what he did.

Reluctantly, that's how their nights were spent, under the stars they came into each others arms in silence, him doing nothing but holding her against him, while she slept. She often wondered what he got out of it, other than the excuse to hold this secret over her - which he never did. Not as blackmail, or a reason to tease her. However, all she remembered of him, as she fell into slumber were those soft words he spoke to her; "I'll stay with you, Muchacha. Sleep, it's okay. I'll watch over you."

Those words followed her into slumber, gave her permission to rest. Gave her permission to breathe again, to have the strength to plan and organize the Army with Sayid, share the burden again with Jack, even trek with Kate now and then.

But always, Ana Lucia would return to him. Those words, that she needed from no other.

Maybe especially because of those words that gradually replaced Mikes voice, the nightmares they began, eventually faded, that her arms find themselves winding around his torso, as far as they'll reach, her hands splaying across the muscles of his back. Soaking in the fact of him, as he played with her hair or traced patterns on the bare skin of her arms, caressing her cheek - anywhere, everywhere, letting Lucy know he'd be there when she woke.

No pretence for them now, this was only to keep her nightmares at bay. Not when, he'd carried her to his tent from the tree and laid her down amongst his treasures and watched her intently, as she slept. Not when, after a rain storm she had stripped and put on one of his shirts, lain against him, leg gently raised against his thigh - and the next morning, as soon as he could, he dove into the cold morning surf and refused to come out until she had dressed and gone. Not when, waking from sleep he'd found himself the object of intense attention, as Ana Lucia raised on one elbow, looking down at him through hooded eyes. Only then did he discover that his left hand was on her hip, beneath his shirt she wore, tracing slow circles. The intimacy and rightness of it, not lost to either of them.

Especially not when, she didn't make him move it.

Ana Lucia was unsure when she slept anymore, than when she woke in James 'Sawyer' Fords strong and sure embrace. Nightmares were for the damned, and she was no longer one of them. It wasn't completely nightmare free, she still had her moments of waking with the taste of blood at the back of her throat, or Libby crying a few tents away while Hurley held her through her own turmoil. But she had hope again, and perhaps, even more stretched out along side her, right now.

Ana smiles as she places a chaste kiss on Sawyers forehead, before snuggling down against him, his arms secure anchor to what is real. On this island, that's the closest thing to what dreams are made of.

And she's more than happy to take it.

**The end.**


End file.
